


Right On Time

by Sky_Full_of_Dragons



Category: Pacific Rim, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Airplanes, Airports, Anxiety, Fluff, Happy Ending, It's the FUTURE but not much has changed, M/M, Married Life, Newt has a pretty bad day, Post Movie, Seattle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_Full_of_Dragons/pseuds/Sky_Full_of_Dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt attempts to pick up Hermann at the airport. From a Tumblr prompt of "Picking up a loved one after their long flight". This bit of fluff takes place after the events in the movie, and Newt and Hermann have settled in Seattle, simply because that's where I live and I think it's pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right On Time

“Aren't I supposed to have a self-driving car by now?” Newt Geiszler asked himself as he unplugged his electric but sadly still human-operated automobile and eased his tired body behind the wheel. It was, by Newt's estimate, Oh God o'Clock in the Goddamn Morning and he sorely wished he could sleep on the way to the airport. However, Newt's iPhone 18Q had announced that Hermann's flight from back East would be arriving in Seattle at six-fifteen AM and that leaving home an hour and a half before that would be advisable. Newt made it out the door 45 minutes before the airplane's scheduled arrival, due to Newt's talent for silencing his alarm without waking up. Never mind that the alarm was set to only cease its blaring music when Newt strummed the correct guitar strings projected in a glowing hologram over his bed – if it meant he didn't have to get up, Newt figured he could learn to do all sorts of things in his sleep.

 

Except drive. Newt couldn't quite extend his laziness to competent sleep-driving. And so he rolled the car out of the garage and onto the darkened, deserted neighborhood street. If it were later in the day, Newt could have enjoyed a breathtaking view of the Olympic mountains across Puget Sound – saving the world had its perks, some of which being fellowship offers from too many universities to count, with hefty salaries to sweeten the deal. The view was one of the reasons doctors Geiszler and Gottleib had chosen the craftsman-style home on the sheltered coast. The other was the relative isolation. It wasn't easy being famous, even when one _had_ dreamed of becoming a “rockstar” and usually enjoyed the attention. But privacy and views came with the drawback of a “long-ass drive to the airport when all sane people are still sawing logs!” Newt muttered to himself.

 

He was up by choice, he had to remind himself. This was going to be  _awesome._ Hermann had been gone for over a week, attending conferences and presenting his findings on trans-dimensional portals to research and investment groups in New York. The kaiju and their mysterious creators had used the breach between their world and this for destructive purposes, for a bid at conquering the Earth for their own. But this phenomena, quite new to the human race, had grand potential. Moving objects and people through portals and skipping the space between was just the  _start_ but oh – what a place to start! Such technology would change absolutely everything, especially this issue of  _picking up husbands from the airport._ Hermann was going to be the start of it. Hermann was going to change the world again. And Newt was going to pick him up from the airport so Hermann wouldn't have to hire a cab. Newt would be there to greet his physicist, hand him a latte, carry his suitcase, and take him home. 

 

55 minutes later (“Only a teensy bit late, but Herms has to deplane, walk the concourse, browse the news stand, take the elevator down...”) Newt stood in the baggage claim area, steaming-hot latte in hand, waiting to greet Hermann.

 

30 minutes after that, Newt was sitting on one of the terribly uncomfortable bench-chairs, after studying all the arrivals monitors, scrutinizing the baggage carousals, and drinking Hermann's latte. It was getting cold and it would be a shame to waste a nine-dollar Starbucks drink.  _OK I'm here, where did you end up?_ Newt texted Hermann. And texted him again. And  _again_ , each note getting more and more frantic. 

 

It was now two hours after Hermann's plane was supposed to have arrived. Newt walked around the baggage area one last time, checking the displays above each carousal for any sign that the luggage had come from New York. Or New Jersey. Or any of “those little East Coast states” as Newt liked to say.

Had there been a delay? There hadn't appeared to be. None of the arrival screens had said anything about a delay. True, Newt couldn't remember Hermann's flight number, but did it really matter in this age of cell phones and minute-by-minute airline updates? Apparently it was  _starting_ to matter, as Hermann wasn't showing up and Newt had stopped enjoying the waiting game and was beginning to get seriously worried. He checked his phone, scrutinizing the weather reports from both the East Coast and West Coast. Even the middle of the country. Some thunderstorms down South, but that was about it – most of America was enjoying a balmy Spring day. It was even partly cloudy in typically overcast Seattle – a lovely day, Newt grumbled, that he was completely missing because he was stuck in a damn  _airport baggage claim_ that  _didn't even have any windows._ Struck by horrible morbid thoughts, he quickly called up a news site, and then another, and another – as many as his iPhone could give him, digging through for any stories of disaster, terror, or disease that could be delaying Hermann and preventing his contact. Such terrible research, two dozen more frenzied texts and even (getting desperate, here) a couple  _phone calls_ to Hermann (unanswered. Strongly-worded voicemails were left), and a long conversation with an elderly couple in the baggage claim Starbucks who looked like they really wanted Newt to tell them all about saving the world took up another few hours. Newt checked his phone for the five hundred thousandth time. It was approaching noon.

 

But  _wait_ – Newt had been late to the airport! What if Hermann's flight had been  _early?_ What if Hermann – and this made Newt sweat bullets even more than the thought of Hermann's plane having engine trouble over Kansas because of  _course_ Hermann could fix that – what if he had grabbed his bags, looked around and, not seeing his partner, had gone to the curb and hailed a cab to take him home? What if Hermann was upset that Newt wasn't there to greet him and was avoiding Newts texts and calls? Hermann's annoyance at Newt's inattention to detail was nothing new – it was daily life, really, but they had  _planned_ this. It had been  _Newt's_ idea, even, to pick him up at the airport and Hermann had seemed genuinely happy about the prospect of Newt driving him home after a long flight. Hermann hadn't mentioned it, but Newt was looking forward to having a drowsy Hermann in his car, exhausted by a red-eye flight back from New York. He had been looking forward to helping Hermann up the stairs, tucking him into bed, watching him fall asleep, and maybe even waking him up for a home-cooked dinner of cedar-plank salmon to welcome him back to the Pacific Northwest. Newt had no fish, nor cedar planks, but his master plan had been to run to the store while Hermann was napping...now even dinner plans were getting screwed up and Hermann was probably  _home already_ , wondering where Newt was and microwaving leftover cheap Chinese food after a grumpy nap on the couch with no pillow and no blanket and no one to tuck him in...Newt sprinted for his car.

 

The sun was out, the mountains were out, the waters were sparkling, the gentle breeze was sighing through the evergreens and  _Hermann wasn't home_ . In fact, there wasn't any sign that Hermann had been there at all. No suitcases. No coffee cups used. The bed was still in the disarray that Newt had left it in – no doubt Hermann would have smoothed the sheets as soon as he entered the bedroom. But everything was just as Newt had left it, hours before. 

 

Maybe he'd lost his key? Newt checked the hidden house key (under the fake dog turd in the yard, one of Newt's finest purchases, really. He'd gotten a lot of milage out of  _that_ two dollars), but the key was still there. Newt headed out back, to the wooden staircase that led down to the beach, and peered North and then South along the narrow strip of sand, just in case Hermann had decided to go for a walk, as unlikely as that might be. Hermann wasn't much of a fan of the steep wooden stairs even when Newt offered him a hand – but perhaps just this once he had tried...

 

Newt gasped. What if something had  _happened_ to Hermann? What if he'd decided to go for a swim, for some unfathomable reason, in the cold waters of the sound? What if he – but Newt stopped himself. No, he'd  _know_ if Hermann had met his end. He'd know through the Drift, or at least he  _supposed_ he'd know. If he concentrated, Newt could feel Hermann's mental presence curled somewhere in his mind. Alive, then. But upset? Newt couldn't tell. They'd Drifted all of once (despite Newt's begging to try it again) but even the brief mental handshake had been enough to leave tracks on each other's minds, like footprints in the snow. Or the caramel swirl in ice cream, was how Newt preferred to think of it. A ribbon of caramel in the otherwise kinda boring but still sweet vanilla of Hermann's mind. Blueberry jam on Hermann's sensible but dry toast...it was long past lunchtime and Newt was getting hungry. 

 

He felt better after polishing off the leftover lo mein. He felt a bit more rational, too. The best thing to do when you're lost somewhere is to stay in one place so that others can find you, he mused. This probably applies when you're supposed to meet someone somewhere – you should stay where you're expected to be so that your lost person, your little lost  _Hermann_ can come find you. Newt threw his empty take-out container in the trash. He had to return to the airport. 

 

Newt got stuck in rush-hour traffic.

 

When Newt was finally  _finally_ able to park his car and return to baggage claim, it was six-thirty in the evening. Newt was filled with the helpless rage of one who has just spent two and a half hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic, beautiful views of water and mountains and cityscapes be damned. Another minute of  _that_ torture, and Newt would have been ready to pack his stuff and move to Alaska, where there  _is_ no traffic because people get around on  _seaplanes_ and there's no damn  _ baggage claim _ and no _airport either_ and no...Newt cursed the automatic doors for not opening as quickly as he would have liked. He was so very  _very_ late and the whole universe was conspiring  _against him_ to move  _even slower_ when his husband was out  _lost_ in the world and likely was so upset as to  _never speak to Newt again and -_

 

And there was Hermann, at the baggage carousal with his flight number flashing on the carousal’s screen, just as it should be. Hermann didn't  _look_ angry, just a little tired and a bit bored, as he waited for his luggage to be delivered. 

 

Newt practically pounced on him. “WHERE WERE YOU.” he nearly screamed, much more statement than question, grabbing Hermann's shoulders.

 

“On an airplane,” Hermann answered smoothly. “Newton, I'm happy to see you too but...”

 

Newt bear-hugged his husband, burying his face in his coat and clinging so tightly that Hermann found it a bit tough to breathe. “I'm LATE I'm so sorry I'm late you must have been waiting and waiting but I got stuck in traffic and then I thought you went for a walk on the beach and I ate all the leftovers and maybe that's out of order but I DRANK your LATTE and...”

 

“Er...there there...” Hermann managed to free one hand to awkwardly stroke Newt's hair. Newt's behavior, as usual, was beginning to attract attention, even in this setting where emotional reunions and embraces were common. “You aren't...oof, please, would you loosen your grasp a little bit! You aren't all _that_ late, my suitcase hasn't even arrived, and -”

 

“But you DIDN'T RETURN MY TEXTS and I even CALLED YOU...” if anything, Newt hugged him even tighter and only relaxed his arms when Hermann squeaked in discomfort.

 

“I had my cell phone off for the meetings this morning, and then left it off for the flight as searching for cellular towers runs down the battery...I am sorry for that, I should have turned it on when we landed -”

 

“And I was sure that you were so UPSET that you – wait...meetings? This _morning?”_ Newt suddenly looked up into his husband's face, shocked. “This...MORNING? You JUST got off your plane?”

“Yes, of course. Newton, _please_ let go of me, you're making a scene.” Only slight irritation, then. Newt had screwed up somehow, but Hermann wasn't upset. On the contrary, he seemed a little worried about his partner. 

 

“But your plane took off at...I mean, it should have arrived at...” Newt dug in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and shoved the screen into Hermann's face. “Look at THAT. 6:15 AM, that's what it says, right on my calendar! Siri wouldn't lie to me, Hermann! I had to get up, so _very very early_ and drive all the way here and then drove ALL the way back home because your plane was very late and you didn't call me and...

 

“Ugh, Newton! Do you mean to tell me that you thought I was arriving at 6:15 in the _morning?_ That's preposterous, and would be even more torturous than the flight already _was_. I'm afraid your typical inattention has caused you to mix up AM and PM, which wouldn't be an issue if you'd just switch to a twenty-four hour clock like a _rational_ person...”

 

“That can't be what happened!” Newt threw his hands up in disgust. “I _couldn't_ make an error like that, it's too silly, it's too moronic, it's...too...” 

 

Newt noticed the blinking lights over the baggage carousal as they spelled out FLIGHT 221 ARRIVING FROM JFK 6:15 PM.

 

He turned his head and noted the arrival screen: FLIGHT 221 6:15 PM ARRIVAL. ON TIME.

 

“Oh... _seriously?_...augh...I...I can't believe that I...Herms, I wasted the whole day and...” He leaned his head against Hermann's chest and slumped his shoulders, exhaustion replacing adrenaline. “And I'm sorry, I waited and waited, but I failed so hard, I was so very sure that you...I mean...I...”

 

Hermann rolled his eyes, but smiled a bit. And he thought  _he'd_ had a long day. “There now, it sounds like you were  _very early_ and therefore much more prepared than anyone has ever needed to be to pick up someone at the airport!  _And_ I have to admit that I'm a bit flattered at how worried you seemed to be – but let's just go  _home_ and  _relax,_ alright? Here's my suitcase...” and Hermann grabbed his bag from the carousal. “It's wonderful to see you, and I'm grateful for the ride.”

 

“Here, let me...let me get...” Newton made a clumsy grab for the handles on the bag, missed, tried again, and fumbled. He shook his head and closed his eyes. “You know, maybe you should drive.”

 


End file.
